Somewhere Only We Know
by cherrycordial
Summary: This is a story about a reclusive poet and a silent bookworm, who learn that although they are broken in their own ways, it takes two to piece each other back together again, and may find love in the process. — AH, AU. B x E, rated T for now.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So, hi. This is a new story; my first Bella x Edward fic on this site, and surprisingly I love it a lot so far even though they piss me off to death in the books... Anyway, it's an All-Human AU, but I tried to keep it as true to the book as possible without anybody being a sparkly vampire. xD Though you may notice some slight changes over time. :)_

_So anyway, hope you enjoy the first chapter. :) Leave a review, or favorite/follow? xx_

_- Cherry _

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_**Somewhere Only We Know**_

_**1**_**  
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The soft scribbling of a pencil tip on paper was the only sound in Bella Swan's bedroom. Cool air drifted through her half-open window, pale slivers of faint moonlight spilling across the faded wooden floorboards. She wrote thoughtfully into the night, ignoring the heaviness of her eyelids as fatigue rolled over her again and again as the minutes passed. Her brain was most functional at three o'clock in the morning, and she couldn't control herself when she just had to write something down. Being a natural when it came to words, it was like a dam was being broken down inside her head and all these small stories and poems came out on the paper of her battered book of notes and doodles. Bella enjoyed her imagination over most things; she was considered quiet and reclusive by her peers at school, too obsessed with her own little world to pay much attention to anything else. Part of the statement was true—while she often daydreamed and wrote, she was quite observant and noticed a lot, despite what everyone assumed. Most of the things she came up with were about her surroundings, such as the people.

If there was one thing Bella was genuinely fascinated by, it was people. Human beings had such tendencies to change their minds; to choose the things that were all wrong for them; to not know where to begin. She studied a throng of teenagers every day at school, battling with hormones and love interests and homework and the terrifying realizations of growing up too soon. They fought and they cried and they laughed and they got angry quick. They argued and they reconciled and they cheated and most of them struggled to fit in. Bella saw everything that could happen in a high school, sometimes feeling exactly the same ways herself, and when she got confused, her head spinning from all the things she witnessed, she would hide in the library and pull out her notebook to write. She'd jot down her thoughts and talk to it as though it were another person—which, in many ways, the book _was_ a person. The book was Bella, her conscience and her mind and her personality rolled into another physical form, although it couldn't talk back or comfort her if she needed sympathy. Because Bella learned to empathize with herself, to feel better and dream all on her own. She didn't mind much; as much as people captivated her, she shut herself away and refused to come back out. She preferred isolation. She was a loner. And she was sad.

Eventually she was too tired to keep the words flowing anymore, and with a resigned sigh, she shut her notebook and pushed it onto her nightstand with the pencil, then flicked off her lamp and rolled over under her quilt as a strong sensation of exhaustion trickled through her body. She curled up, pulling the covers up to her chin, then closed her eyes. Within moments, she was asleep, her mind still half-awake with its creative energy. All night she dreamed, though in the morning she'd only remember few; images of bright, storybook-themed forests and castles flashed behind her closed eyelids, and an unusual type of horse pranced in a field of wild aster, under a sky of stars lit up by the full moon. Small bearded men with pink faces and bare feet bravely fought a large grey dragon that breathed snow and ice instead of fire, freezing anything in its path, including the little men. A gorgeous princess with long auburn hair stood at a balcony, gazing down at the wreckage the dragon was causing with tears in her blue eyes; her lavender dress whipped around her ankles, and her lovely face was ashen-pale with fear.

Subconsciously, the pretty girl reminded Bella of someone who had once played a significant part in her life once. The edges of the dream started to burn like the edges of paper being set on fire, as a new face came across Bella's mind, and she winced in her sleep. The dragon and the crying princess faded away, and she heard a gentle voice murmuring to her in the back of her mind. It was saying her name, quietly and soothingly; she thought a hand was brushing strands of hair away from her forehead, stroking her cheek as though to calm her. She twitched under the covers, blearily shaking her head to clear it of the kind face she was seeing, of the comforting feel that belonged to the woman's hand. Her heart thumped rapidly as sweat beaded on her hairline and cooled against her back, her legs kicking under the quilt as she struggled to free herself from the dream, to get away fast….

Bella jerked awake with a gasp, then blinked into the beams of pale yellow sunlight streaming through her window. Disoriented, she stared at them for a moment, trying to understand. Sunshine? In Forks? That didn't make the slightest bit sense. She propped herself up on her elbows and tugged her tangled hair out of her tired eyes, then tried again to comprehend what all the light meant. Her head was still spinning painfully with the memory of her mother's face—the sound of her voice, the feel of her touch, and she couldn't think clearly. Something akin to nausea was churning in her stomach, and her bones felt like mush. Bella groaned softly, and let her face fall onto her pillows, curling into a half-circle again and tugging her quilt over her head to block out the sunshine. For a while she lay there in silence, trying to remember how to breathe correctly so she wouldn't hyperventilate. She was vaguely aware that it was Thursday, and there was school. But she couldn't fully remember what it was that went on there, and who else would show up, and closed her eyes to keep herself calm. School was the furthest thing from Bella's mind at the moment. In the early morning silence, she could still hear her heart beating, slightly quicker than normal, her pulse thudding in her ears and her body unusually warm with anxiety. And she was still tired.

A quiet knock on her bedroom door startled her out of her light doze, and she yelped in surprise, instinctively shifting into a defensive position, whipping her quilt off her head. Her door opened slowly, and her father, Charlie, appeared, looking apprehensive from the sound of her cry. She relaxed upon realizing it was only him, and offered a feeble, "Hey, Dad." The two had always had an awkward relationship, as any father and teenaged daughter might. They didn't normally speak to one another much, though silence was always the most comfortable between them, and while they really did love each other, it was difficult to express that love through words alone—and as an alternative, they managed to let it show by their actions instead. Bella made sure dinner was perfect every night and that the house was spotless when he got home; and he always wished her a good day at school, and, if it was needed, he'd get her new tires on her truck whenever the weather got bad. While they never acknowledged it aloud, both knew the simple little things were the most effective in communicating their love for each other.

"You okay?" Charlie asked, and Bella nodded, pink rising in her cheeks as she blushed with embarrassment for acting so jittery. "Well—time for school. You don't wanna be late," he continued gruffly, then left the door a little bit open before thumping away towards the stairs. Bella sighed, then rubbed her sleepy eyes in hopes to wake herself up. She glanced again at the window, and this time she saw the sunlight and understood what it meant. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she felt a funny kind of warmth come through her chest; for a moment she forgot about the dream with her mother, and that she had to get ready for school. She looked at the shaft of sunshine coming through her window and onto the floor, so different from the usual grey-green light that filtered down from the clouds often occupying the skies over Forks. For some reason, the sunlight made her happy.

She dressed mechanically, her mind already buzzing again with thoughts and ideas. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a loose pale pink shirt with sneakers, then was faced with the grueling process of brushing her hair. In just a few seconds she was frustrated, happiness momentarily forgotten, as she cringed in pain as the brush tugged on her scalp. Eventually she managed to comb through her long, coffee-colored hair until it was silky-soft once more, curling gently past her shoulders and framing a pretty face. She caught her own stare in the mirror as she brushed her teeth, a pair of dark, chocolate brown eyes surrounded by tired shadows of a restless night's sleep—again. She sighed, turning the water off, then hurried back to her room to grab her backpack. She snatched it off the corner of the bedpost and made sure she had everything she needed, then loped down the stairs, just in time to say goodbye to her father. Unexpectedly Charlie pulled her into a one-armed hug and, as usual, told her to have a good day. She grinned and said the same, trying to conceal her surprise by his being so affectionate.

It came to Bella on the drive to school that even though Charlie could be ill at ease around her, that didn't mean he wanted to be; she could grasp that being a single father to a seventeen-year-old girl could be a bit strange, a little scary sometimes too. That was why she tried to make life as easy as possible for him, to not get into trouble or break curfew, not that she had anywhere to go to get into said trouble or to break whatever curfew that had not actually been spoken of. Then it dawned on her why he had hugged her this morning, and all the other few rare times he had more often ever since her mother's death; maybe it was a comfort to him to know that, even if a tragic occurrence could take his daughter away too, giving her one last sign of love was better than distancing himself and not doing anything at all to let her know that he did love her. Tears pricked at her eyes and her hands clenched around the wheel as something heavy lodged itself in her chest—she bit her lip and tried to think of anything else. She focused on the road instead, sifting through her head about her homework assignments to help distract herself from the obvious; if she continued thinking about Charlie any further her mother would come to mind and that would be too painful to endure, twice in an hour and a half. She took deep breaths to calm herself.

A large building constructed mostly of red brick came into view, its sign declaring it to be Forks High School, and Bella pulled her Chevy into the nearest empty parking space and cut the engine before its rumbling noise was able to attract too much attention. Putting on her most casual face, she reached for her backpack and climbed out of the sun-warmed cab, slamming the door shut behind her. Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, Bella started for the stairs leading up to the big, double front doors of the school, but was stopped by a camera flash suddenly going off in her face and Angela Weber, the head of the school newspaper, saying happily, "Smile!" Blinded by the flash, Bella blinked rapidly to clear the black spots as they bloomed across her vision; and she couldn't help but to feel rather confused that Angela, who was actually very nice and a bit shy, had even approached her.

"Sorry," Angela apologized, looking briefly concerned. But Bella shook her head and smiled, reassuring her silently that it was okay. Angela fell into step beside Bella as she continued her way toward the school. Angela said, "So, um…can you help me with something? If it's not too much to ask," she added quickly, and Bella looked up attentively with a small nod. "Um, well, the newspaper committee is kind of shorthanded right now. We're doing an article on global warming—Eric's idea, of course—and we need to do some research on it first. Would you mind checking out some books in the library for me? Just any one you can find that involve that subject." Smiling at Bella, who smiled back and nodded again, Angela continued, "Thanks, Bella. This really means a lot to me. We just need them by next Tuesday, so take your time. No rush." She grinned again, then moved on to a different topic. "So," she began slowly, slightly hesitantly, and Bella braced herself for unwanted questions—then remembered that Angela wasn't the type to invade someone's privacy. "How's, um—how's your dad?" Angela blushed.

Bella got the distinct impression Angela had changed her question at the last second, but went along with it anyway. They were inside by now, weaving through the crowd of teenagers to get to their lockers. "He's okay," Bella replied as nonchalantly as she could as they approached their lockers. Coincidentally, their lockers were just a few spaces apart, but their conversation had to be cut short by others getting their own things. Bella was relieved for the brief distraction; she was unsure of what to say next, even to someone as calm as Angela. She opened her locker and pretended to be looking for something amid all the slight clutter. She felt glad to help Angela, but couldn't shake the feeling that something was…waiting for her in the library. It was an instinctual, subconscious thought; all of a sudden there was more to this simple task than she had originally thought. She felt silly, and so superstitious now—there was nothing, of course. She was simply exaggerating, a delayed reaction to the dream about her mother this morning. She shook her head, then shut her locker before joining Angela, forcing a smile, even though her heart was aching again the same way it had the weeks, months, and years following Renée's death. Everything reminded Bella of her and that made the pain of losing her even worse. She _needed_ distractions.

The beginning of the school day started the same as always. First period English was the only class Bella truly enjoyed; it seemed the subject was destined for her. She could write and think and read all she wanted to for the precious fifty-five minutes that occupied her mind for a while. Everyone else in English certainly weren't as enamored with it as she was, though there was a few who seemed to try and make an effort to be interested. She did not have a care in the world for anybody else when in English class—it was about her and her alone, and what she could do with the language, and how to make correct sentences and to fit literature in with it at the same time. And when it was over, she felt her shoulders slump a little and disappointment weigh heavy in her chest when she realized she would have to return to the real world now; to face real problems that occurred largely in a school.

The only good part about trudging through the rest of the day was being able to observe people, a favorite hobby of Bella's. She took her usual place in her other classes, struggling to pay attention to the lesson while being watchful of her peers as well. Between important notes and listening and learning, she would find a second to add a thought down or the next line to an incomplete poem in her notebook. She noticed when her partner's gaze, trying to be inconspicuous, flickered to that vital little book she was seen writing in everywhere she went, before looking away like they hadn't been even the slightest bit curious as to what the withdrawn, quiet Bella Swan was thinking about. Not that everyone cared—most of them didn't. But the ones who happened to be close enough to her to see her most of the day were, and she didn't mind as much as another person might have. That was yet another thing that fascinated her about the human race in general; some tried not to care but wound up doing so anyway despite any previous intentions. _But the more you care, the more you have to lose,_ she mused dismally.

By the time lunch rolled around, the exhaustion of hardly any sleep was catching up to her again, and Bella stopped on the way to the cafeteria to splash some water onto her face to help keep herself awake. She had to be a bit more alert if she was going to be searching for books on global warming; she didn't want to wind up accidentally checking out something on broccoli or potato farming, if there was such a thing in the library. By the time it took her to fix her hair again and make herself look less like a zombie, most of the school was banded together in the cafeteria, sitting at their own designated tables with lunch trays in front of them and talking amongst each other. Bella's stomach gave a low growl of hunger, reminding her that she had skipped breakfast this morning—she was starving. She headed for the lunch line, already knowing what she wanted. Mechanically, Bella chose an apple, a bottle of lemonade, and a granola bar, then made her way to the furthest corner of the cafeteria where the most isolated table sat deserted and alone. She sank down onto the hard bench, sliding her backpack off of her shoulder and setting it down beside her, biting into her apple and naturally letting her eyes roam the room. It was the same as any other day—teenagers everywhere, eating and laughing and talking. But then she saw _them_.

Wavy blond hair tumbled past her shoulders, brushing against her smiling cheeks as she leaned her head on her boyfriend's massive chest, slapping him on the stomach with one perfect hand. He was visibly shaking with his booming laughter, one frighteningly muscular arm around her as his dimples and blue eyes danced with amusement. Their little posse of friends were all howling at whatever it was he had said this time; it was quite obvious to Bella, who noticed even the most insignificant of details, that they all seemed to be overacting again, like they were forcing their enjoyment too much for Emmett McCarty's sake. However, Bella wasn't repulsed or annoyed at all by this—she only found it funny how some people tried so hard to fit in with the popular crowd, to get a little recognition just by being in their company. Perhaps they hoped they'd be closer to sharing the throne by trying.

Bella knew very little about Rosalie Cullen and Emmett McCarty; she only saw them from a distance, never speaking to them or even approaching them. But she did know that statuesque beautiful Rosalie was the daughter of Dr. Carlisle Cullen and his wife, Esme, and the Cullens had moved down from Alaska two years ago. Their oldest, Jasper, was already in college, apparently in a relationship with a girl named Alice Brandon, and of course the eighteen-year-old Rosalie had a love interest herself—beefy, goofy Emmett, who, according to the unreliable gossip of the entire school, practically lived with the Cullens because he was over there so much. And Bella wasn't one hundred percent sure, but she thought she recalled Charlie mentioning another son, or it could have been a cousin…no, she didn't remember correctly; she would have to ask Charlie who the second Cullen son was, if the boy was their son at all. Bella munched on her apple and nibbled at her granola bar, her lemonade forgotten completely, her mind elsewhere now that she allowed to let it scramble away from her; out of reach. Hard to control.

Suddenly she was thrown back into the school cafeteria by being struck with the memory of the task Angela had asked her to do. It was the perfect time to escape; most days she skipped the remaining lunch time by looking for a little solace in the library, where it was warm and utterly silent, and smelled of books and paste and knowledge. The library was her very favorite place to be, other than her bedroom back at home. She would die if it had to be taken away from her. Next to being a persistent thinker and overall poet, reading was something Bella thoroughly enjoyed, though she knew she didn't love it quite as much as writing. She'd never love anything as much as she loved to write and think. So she gathered her trash and her uncapped bottle of lemonade, scooping up her backpack at the last second, and hurried toward the double doors at the front of the cafeteria. Tossing out all remnants of her small lunch, Bella pushed open the doors and headed down the empty hallways to the library, already wondering what type of books there could be on global warming. She felt a sense of security and delight stir within her as she grabbed hold of the door handle and pushed it open, stepping into the big high-ceilinged room filled with fading mahogany shelves stacked high with books. She breathed in the scent, smiling to herself.

"Oh, hello, Bella dear," quietly called the librarian, Ms. Hawthorne, a kindly woman who had the typical look of a librarian: glasses on a thin chain around her neck, wispy grey hair pulled up into a bun, her thin face lined by the years of wisdom and age. She sat at her wide half-circle desk, typing away at her dinosaur of a computer, the faint clicking of the keys the only sound in the place. Bella smiled back at her, secretly pleased she had the room entirely to herself. Not many others came in here, so it was only occupied by Bella and Ms. Hawthorne most of the time. The librarian was unobtrusive and maternal, and they had struck up a quiet friendship not long after that terrifying first day of ninth grade nearly three years ago. Ms. Hawthorne had been a comfort to Bella after Renée's death, and was the one who wholeheartedly encouraged Bella to embrace her creative side rather than hoping to push it away. Bella admired the elderly woman greatly and was grateful for her kindness; she was unsure who she'd be now if it hadn't been for the support from someone so unexpected. She had a friend in the good lady.

"Hi," Bella responded softly, with a small wave, as she approached the desk. "Um—can you help me find books on global warming?" Her voice went up an octave. Even though she knew Ms. Hawthorne well, talking to others was always somewhat of a challenge for Bella. Ever since Renée had died, communication became more and more difficult, words not flowing as easily from her tongue as they did from her pencil. Her thoughts and feelings, always jumbled and complex and impossible to express, were very important to her, but she hated having to put them into speech; not that she ever had many people to talk to, but whenever she had to, that was hard. So as a result, she closed herself off from other people even further. She felt nobody could understand how she felt, not really, no matter how hard they tried, though she didn't expect them to. That was just how things worked out.

Ms. Hawthorne smiled and rose slowly from her chair. "Of course, Bella." She walked around the side of her desk and motioned for Bella to follow her. She padded across the carpet and around a bookshelf towards the dark corner of the tallest shelf that stretched from one side of the wall to the other, jam-packed with books of many colors and titles. Bella noticed how peppy Ms. Hawthorne walked despite her age; almost with a little hop as she set one foot in front of the other, purposefully leading the way. Bella hung back as Ms. Hawthorne ran a bony finger down the long row of books beginning with the letter G, eventually smiling happily and saying, "Ah, here we are. Global warming." She beamed at Bella, who grinned back appreciatively and thanked her. "Anytime, sweetie. You know where I am if you need me," she said, then left Bella to her own devices. Bella sighed as she looked at all the books waiting for her; she felt a slight sense of unease flutter in her stomach, almost self-doubt at her own abilities to find what Angela needed. Shaking her head, she set her backpack down on the floor to start her search for just the right books. She caught her lower lip in her teeth and folded her arms, her brown eyes closely scanning the names. She hadn't been standing there for a full minute when she felt somebody's eyes watching.

Bella's shoulders tensed, and she slowly turned her head, twisting her torso halfway as she attempted to find whoever was looking at her. She peered toward the corner of the shelf behind her, but no one was there. Awkward, she leaned forward a little, looking down the line of other bookcases, though she couldn't see anybody. Frowning, she shrugged and returned to her task, but couldn't get rid of the feeling that she was still being watched. As silly as it sounded, she had to acknowledge the fact that she always had that feeling every time she came in here. She knew it wasn't Ms. Hawthorne, who never spied or nosed around in other peoples' business; and it wasn't anybody else since the library was rarely occupied by other students. But a pair of eyes were always studying her, or sometimes they weren't; it varied. But either way, she subconsciously knew she wasn't alone in here—ever. Bella felt a nameless fear shudder down her spine, and biting her lip again nervously, she tried to pay attention to the task at hand, now forcing herself to peek at the covers; she noticed her fingers were trembling a little now.

It wasn't long until she got distracted; her mind drawn away from that stare, she instead concentrated on what she was supposed to be doing. She found a few interesting books that might give Angela the information that the newspaper needed, and with a pleased smile she tucked them under her arm and decided to look for a book she wanted to read for herself. She passed the aisles on autobiographies and romances; in the mood for a kind of adventure, Bella searched around, quietly determined to find one that caught her eye. She bit the corner of her lip, drumming her fingertips against the cover of one of the books she held, the silence louder than she liked it to be. That feeling of being watched was coming back, though she figured it was just her mind playing tricks on her, wanting her to believe she wasn't alone. Moments passed…and then, there was a soft din of books dropping.

Startled, Bella jumped in place; her heart lurched in her chest. She hurried around the bookshelf corner to see what was the matter—and her eyes landed on a very peculiar sight. A thin, lanky boy of around seventeen held his arms up over his head, protecting it from the last paperback book that slipped from the shelf and flopped onto the floor. He was surrounded by a few other battered novels, all hardcover from the looks of them, and he gave a small sigh of contempt before unfolding his arms, revealing his grimacing face. Bella was briefly stunned by his perfect, angular features; even cringing, he was ridiculously handsome, and a tangle of untidy bronze-colored hair fell across the span of his forehead. His skin was fair, though it came across as being unhealthily pale, especially around that attractive face, as though he might have been recovering from an illness. Her observations of him only lasted a brief second before he realized she was standing there, and his head jerked up, a pair of uniquely shaped, clear green eyes widened to size of saucers in mute panic. Her own eyes grew big as well, although for a different reason; his irises were shockingly bright, so deep in color that the only thing she could think of in that moment was that she was staring back at emeralds. They both froze when they realized what was going on.

Bella blinked rapidly and a gasp loosened the sudden tightness in her chest, and then her cheeks started to burn. She dropped her eyes to the floor as he clumsily scrambled to his feet amid the books. The silence only grew louder, more uncomfortable with each passing second. Her heart was fluttering like a bird's wings in her ribcage, beating against the bones as though desperate to escape; she was afraid to look up. But finally she forced her head to tilt upwards, shyly lifting her gaze to his face again. He was fumbling with the books on the floor, scooping them up and shoving them back into their places; she could see the faint red tint in his hollow cheeks, since this was just as awkward for him as it was for her. She pried her lips apart, realizing he must have hit his head at some point, and the natural urge to make sure he was alright was too hard to suppress. "Um—are you okay?" It fell self-consciously out of her mouth and immediately her face reddened again; her voice was unusually high-pitched, squeaky almost, and undeniably quivering with embarrassment and anxiety. She felt very tiny beside him.

The boy pushed the last book into its spot, but didn't turn around or answer her. He sounded like he was trying to keep his breathing under control, as though he feared he might pass out. Then, hesitantly slow, he nodded, to give his reply. Bella relaxed slightly, looking up at the general direction of the top of his head, which was obscured by his messy hair. She started to say something else; an apology, maybe, but nothing come out but air. In a state of her increasing shyness, she blurted out, "Okay—um, well, bye," before turning on her heel and scurrying away. She could breathe slightly easier as she hurried toward the front desk, her head spinning. Ms. Hawthorne looked up as she approached, and she tried to look as casual as possible as she weakly returned the warm smile and handed over her books. She hid her hands quickly once she noticed they were shaking violently, in panic.

"Did you find everything you need, dear?" Ms. Hawthorne inquired conversationally as she stamped the books. Bella nodded, praying that her eyes wouldn't give her uneasiness away. Luckily, the librarian didn't notice, so her fear ebbed the smallest bit. Ms. Hawthorne wished Bella a good day as she gave back the books, and Bella replied as naturally as she could before holding them close to her chest and heading for the door, eager to escape as fast as she could. She somehow managed to open the door with her trembling fingers, and stepped out into the now-bustling hallway; it was packed with teens on their way to their next classes now that lunch was over. To hide her flushed face, Bella shook her thick hair from side to side until it covered most of it, a few mahogany strands catching onto her long eyelashes. There was a sharp pain forming behind her eyes, a sign that she'd get a migraine soon. With a mounting pressure suddenly weighing itself into her heart, Bella weaved through the bodies in the hallway, locking her eyes onto the floor, ill at ease, and more closed off than she had ever been before.

—

Later that night, after dinner was finished and the kitchen was scrubbed spotless, Bella sat on her bed, tapping her pink, pencil eraser on the corner of her geometry book, staring down at the words but not really seeing them. That building headache from earlier was now a full-fledged migraine; it felt like she had been slammed in the head with a hammer. On top of that there was sleep deprivation and uncontrollable thoughts of _him_ running through her mind. It hadn't been like love at first sight, not at all—though she couldn't deny that he was quite good-looking, but she wasn't thinking about that so much as she was about who he was. Surely she must have noticed him somewhere in the school; she rummaged through her memories, trying to think of where she might have seen that tousled crop of auburn hair before—but she had definitely never seen a pair of eyes like his. She sighed, tired and ready for bed even though she knew she had homework left to do. She rubbed her eyes and cracked her stiff knuckles, glancing out the closed window. It was dark out now and thunder rolled ominously; it was storming.

With a frustrated groan, Bella fell back onto her pillows, covering her face with her hands. She wanted to sleep but she couldn't yet, there was math homework waiting to be finished….She tried to keep her eyes open, but she was so tired. Exhaustion trickled through her bones and made her eyelids droop. Unthinkingly, she curled in on herself, her ponytail splaying out across her pillow, wrapping her arms around her middle and pulling her legs up to her chest. The rain drummed heavily on the roof and thudded against the windowpane, but it was a comforting sound to Bella, like a lullaby sung to a restless child. Her brain was calming down, falling asleep; weightless. It was a wonderful feeling and Bella smiled drowsily, forgetting all about her homework and the silent, beautiful boy in the library and whatever in between. But, as she finally went to sleep, she saw those green eyes once again.

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_:D_

_Yaaay! Pleeeeeease tell me what you thought, and if you want to see more! Maybe give a favorite or a follow too, if you want. :P_

_Thanks for reading. xx_

_- Cherry_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hiii. So. Here's chapter 2. Enjoy and stuff. c:_

_Leave a review, or favorite/follow? xx_

_- Cherry_

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**_Somewhere Only We Know_**

**_2_**

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Bella woke up in a cold sweat only an hour later, chills running up and down her arms and legs. She stared into darkness, her heart thumping wildly, struggling to catch her breath. For once, her mind was clouded and dark; as if there was a lightbulb inside of it and someone had tugged the chain, flipping off all thought or sense of reason. Her headache had somehow disappeared, leaving behind only a very faint dizziness; she blinked a few times, trying to comprehend where she was and what she was doing there. She rolled onto her back slightly, glancing over her shoulder at the window—the rain had stopped, miraculously. The glass was spotted with small raindrops and the tree outside was waving gently in the breeze. Bella rubbed her eyes, her thoughts slowly coming back to her now, but she was still exhausted and was unsure if she should just go back to sleep or stay awake….It was oddly velvety, the darkness—pulsating slightly at the edges. She vaguely tried to remember what it was that had awoken her so abruptly out of unconsciousness, but drew up another headache just by thinking about it; all the things she had experienced throughout the day were buzzing like a hive of bees around the inside of her head, and she disliked it intensely, willing it to go away so she could go back to sleep and keep dreaming. Oh, sleep…

Before she knew it, she was spinning through that soft darkness, caressed like the fabric itself was gliding across her skin. Her mind detached from her body, and she drifted again, seeing nothing, hearing nothing at all. Until she were to wake up again, she was left in between faint flickers of dreams and the deep black that followed her in between. Loneliness plagued her even in her sleep; she could feel the chill of depression and the weight of a prolonged grief twine itself around her heart, restricting it from its natural steady beat. As she always did whenever she was uncomfortable or scared, Bella instinctively curled in on herself, heaving a small, restless sigh. Eyes closed tight and fingers gripped the edges of a fading quilt, a silent comfort in a time of fear. Muffled voices hummed in her dreams and she caught sight of a gloomy graveyard—a gleaming coffin—white roses—an angel—

Lightning struck across a black sky, setting the maple tree in the front of the house on fire….Bella moaned, shuddering as the orange flames licked up the twisting branches and leaped at her window. Only when screams of a panicked woman, crying her name over and over again in a desperate attempt to find her, did she awake. For the second time that night, nightmares had brought her out of sleep. Of course, they had always been there, never going away. She had put up with them since she was fourteen years old, and she didn't want to fight anymore. Gasping for air as the tears fell from her wet eyes, Bella trembled on her bed, clutching her quilt as choking sobs broke free from her aching chest. She wanted her mother, she wanted her mother. But Renée wasn't coming back…no, she wasn't coming back. Bella knew this as well as her father did, even if they both didn't want to believe it, three years later. Bella pressed her face into her pillow so Charlie wouldn't hear her crying. She'd woken him up many times in the past from the screams that always followed her nightmares. She could spare him that panic.

—

When dawn broke, a cold, dewy morning that frosted the panes of the windows and gave the clouds a pale lavender tinge, Bella was still awake and thinking furiously as she jotted down the end of her newest poem. She was sleep-deprived again and could barely keep her eyes open, but her brain was currently at its most active; apparently, her irregular nighttime schedule was beginning to affect her creative imagination. She knew she had school and Charlie would be getting up soon, but she didn't care at the moment. She wanted to keep herself distracted so thoughts of that dream about the house fire and the angel in the coffin. Sometimes, Bella thought she was a bit crazy—after all, Renée had been rather eccentric, with the same tendencies to write down whatever popped into her head. But Bella possessed something Renée had not: the ability to _see_ things clearly rather than being as though she lived in a dream world. Bella had both feet on the ground most of the time while Renée let her head float up into the clouds, letting go instead of holding on. Bella never resented her mother for being so distracted most of the time, but of course she wished Renée had been more conscientious of her responsibilities as a mother and wife. She had been quite childlike: always getting into things, speaking her mind, headstrong. Stubborn.

Bella sometimes wondered how her parents' marriage had lasted for as long as it had. But then again, Charlie was once weak-kneed when it came to his happy wife. He still wore the wedding band. That killed Bella the most—to see the gold ring around his finger, doggedly in place, never to come off. One part of her thought that Charlie was simply easily to manipulate, while the other, more rational part strongly disagreed; Charlie Swan was smart and determined, responsible and mostly able to take care of himself. Of course, he didn't argue when Bella made dinner, seeing as he couldn't cook even if his life depended on it—but the point was, Charlie and Renée had a whirlwind relationship that had begun with them falling head over heels for one another and had ended the dark day of her death. Bella could never forget the look on Charlie's face when the doctor told them Renée had pas—

"No!" The notebook and yellow pencil tumbled from Bella's shaking hands and landed with muted thuds on the floor; the pencil clattered and rolled under the desk chair. Bella leapt from her seat, balling her hands into fists, a fierce terror rising in her chest and wrapping around her throat like the cold hands of Death themselves. She began to pace, her heart thumping like the steady beat of a drum in her chest, her pulse throbbing in her ears. There was something warm and wet on her face; when she raised her trembling fingers to her cheeks to wipe it away, she realized she was crying. Tears pooled in her eyes and spilled over onto her skin. The drops on her hands had begun to shimmer in the pale early morning light streaming through her window, giving the ivory tone of her fingers and palms an iridescent glow of some sort. Bella stared at the unexpected sight, her breaths coming in short gasps, unable to look away. For some reason, the sparkling teardrops meant something—not exactly a sign, but a reminder that maybe she wasn't alone. Other people grieved for the loss of their loved ones as well. She and her father weren't the only ones in the world who had lost someone. Despite all of Renée's flaws and peculiarities, Bella knew there wasn't a kinder heart on the planet. She missed her mother so much; so, so much—_so much_.

Bella glanced out her bedroom window, her tear-speckled hands falling to her sides in something like defeat. She stared out the frosty glass, catching a faint ray of yellow sunlight trying to peek through the lavender-grey sky and touch the ground. She watched that beam of sunshine, struggling to reach the trees and warm their wet branches and the grass to brighten the drops of dew at their green tips. The longer Bella looked at it, the more she'd tear up—because the similarities between herself and the small bit of sunlight were too hard to ignore. Everyone else was a cluster of confusing dreariness, too much for her to handle; but she was that little shine of light—the small voice inside her that told her to speak up when she never could. While she didn't think of herself as anything extraordinary, she was blind to see just how _not_ ordinary she was. She was her mother's imagination; she had Renée's understanding and her creative way of thinking. She had her father's clumsiness and his serious yet kindhearted attitude. She was each emotion she felt, every poem she made up. She was just Bella, the town's poet.

—

Bella decided, as she cut her truck's engine, that today was most likely going to be a very interesting day, both good and bad. Bad because, obviously, she hadn't finished her geometry homework and was in for a harsh talk with her teacher—Mr. Abrams hated when students didn't turn in their homework completed. Bella winced as she swung her bag over her shoulder, trudging reluctantly towards the building. She was in no mood to even walk in and attend classes like everyone else; lack of proper sleep was making her a little grumpy and agitated, though she tried not to let that show in her face, lest Angela find her. As usual, nobody noticed the brunette during their loud talking and jostling around and rummaging through lockers. She kept her head down, carefully making her way through the crowd to her own locker, grinding her teeth and clenching her fingers like she often did when her bad moods caught up to her. She wasn't looking forward to what Mr. Abrams was going to say about her homework being unfinished, but she was bracing herself for his wrath. She expected him to just give her a big, fat red F for the rest of the semester in his class and later go off to tell all the other teachers about her, warning them that Bella Swan wasn't the good student they all thought she was. But then again, her mind was just exaggerating.

English allowed her to let everything out, as it always did. The rain drumming gently against the roof went silent in Bella's ears and the soft rustle of paper around her was the only sound she vaguely heard. For a small while it was cozy and quiet in the classroom, and she forgot about how tired she was and that her incomplete geometry homework would probably cause Mr. Abrams to have a little fit. Her mind drifted away, and she was quite close to being halfway happy again. She jumped in her seat, startled out of her trance, when the bell rang shrilly, signaling the end of first period. Bella sighed, then cringed as she realized geometry was next. Taking a deep breath, she scooped up her things and followed the others out the door, her stomach doing a flip-flop of apprehension. She wasn't exactly frightened of Mr. Abrams—after all, the top of the squat man's balding head barely came to her shoulder, and she was five feet four inches—but he could certainly be a rather intimidating person whenever he flew into a rage. His round face would turn bright red and his small, pale eyes would bulge quite grotesquely.

The little man was shuffling through papers on his desk when Bella trailed in after her classmates; what was left of his colorless hair kept flying around like pieces of thin, dried grass waving drearily in a faint summer wind. As Bella was taking her place at her desk, keeping her eyes lowered to the faux oak wood and pretending to be thinking, a strange sense of expectation came over her. It was sudden and rather brief, but it made her wonder. The oddest things always seemed to happen after awkward encounters, at least for Bella; it felt like something was waiting for her, but not in the library this time, yet still in the school. No—some_one_ was waiting for her. Instantly a pair of green eyes danced across her thoughts, but she blinked them away as her heart skipped a beat. She didn't want to start thinking of _him_ right now. So instead she reluctantly pulled out her homework and sighed glumly while Mr. Abrams finished organizing his desk, muttering to himself. Bella had to give the man credit for sticking around as long as he had—after nearly twenty years of educating rowdy, obnoxious teenagers, it made perfect sense that his hair started diminishing. But there must have been a reason for him to stay, or else he would've been long gone by now—Bella knew that for a fact. She wondered what it could be as the dull seconds ticked by.

"All right, class," Mr. Abrams eventually sighed, and Bella groaned inwardly, glancing down at the half-completed worksheets on her desk. "I'm going to come around and collect your homework. I'm hoping you all finished, or else I'm assigning whoever didn't extra homework over the weekend," he threatened, and Bella felt her heart throb at the edges in dismay. Extra homework, over the weekend! Oh, could this day get any worse. She twitched in her seat, and forced the grimace from her face as Mr. Abrams came around, collecting everyone's work. She nervously ran her fingers through her hair, still damp and sleek from her shower, and shifted the soft curls onto her right shoulder, adjusting her headband absentmindedly. She was afraid to look up at the short teacher as he came closer to her desk, but she was forced to when he held out his pudgy hand for her work. She gathered up the pages and shyly handed them over to him, praying he wouldn't flick through them to check and see if all eight worksheets were complete. Thankfully he didn't and Bella breathed a sigh of relief as he moved on down the row.

Geometry was, routinely, the most irritating class Bella was submitted to attending. _At least there's Biology next,_ she thought to herself. _And then History, then lunch, then yadda yadda yadda…I can't wait to go home and sleep. _An involuntary yawn passed her lips. Her eyelids were heavy, but she forced them to remain open—the last thing she wanted to do was fall asleep in class in front of everybody. So she unenthusiastically pushed on, listening halfheartedly to Mr. Abrams as he droned on in between writing down whatever it was he was saying in her school notebook. Eventually the time ran out for him to keep them busy any longer, and the bell clattered shrilly once again. Bella rubbed her eyes as she shuffled her notes together, and slid her geometry book back into her bag, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She was so tired she could barely function, but her body moved mechanically.

And yet, that all changed the second she stepped into Biology. The classroom was the same as always—two people sitting side-by-side at the long tables while the rain drummed against the tall, wide glass windows in a grey current of water. Mr. Banner was wiping the whiteboard clear of any previous notes while the kids took their seats. The first thing Bella noticed was that her usual spot, sitting beside Mike Newton, was taken up by a new girl, a European-looking one with a lot of long, curly black hair and olive skin. She was very pretty in an exotic way, with large dark eyes and perfect white teeth. But the next thing Bella noticed was that there was only one place left and it was at the back of the room—where a familiar boy with unruly hair and pale skin sat, hunched over a book with an absentminded look on his thin face. Bella's heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening, suddenly alert and aware of her surroundings. _What are the odds,_ she thought, _that the person I wind up sitting next to and subsequently _working _with is him? _Him_! Why him, of all people? I bet he thinks I'm a freak. I bet he doesn't even like me_….

_Well,_ a little voice argued, _you haven't even had a conversation with him. You haven't been in his presence for longer than two minutes, so he wouldn't know enough about you to _not_ like you. _Bella sighed impatiently, then forced her unwilling feet to move forward, her legs awkwardly moving down the aisle to the last remaining table where _he_ was sitting; she chewed her lip nervously. As she got closer to him, she noticed his eyes were circled with sad grey shadows—a sign that he, too, might not have gotten enough sleep. But he didn't even flinch when she pulled her chair out and sat down, setting her backpack down on the floor and glancing at the pages of his book as inconspicuously as she could; she didn't recognize the story even from those few sentences she could see. Trying to keep a low profile, she took to looking around the room at her classmates; everyone had a microscope, a few slides, and their books open, talking together quietly. Mr. Banner was scribbling something on the board in his bright red marker. Bella looked at the boy beside her out of the corner of her eye as he turned the page. She noted how long and slender his fingers were, but they were just as white as the rest of him. He almost seemed to give off an air of sadness; a perpetual sorrow that ran deep down. He seemed almost…separated from reality.

The lesson began with Mr. Banner going around, telling everyone what they were doing for the day. Bella tried to pay attention, but the tense atmosphere between them was too difficult to overlook. She awkwardly pulled over the microscope and a slide, noticing that her partner hadn't moved an inch, and wondered if he was only in this class for show rather than to really learn anything, though she couldn't imagine how he could just sit there unless Mr. Banner saw him. She wrote down notes as carefully as she could, even if she felt a little paranoid that he was looking at her for the first time. Frustration and curiosity raged inside her like the blood in her veins. Oh, how it killed her not to be able to talk to him; to ask him for his name, even. But something kept her from saying anything at all. She knew what it was—she knew _he_ knew it was her who sat beside him. That's what stopped that _hey_.

Part of her was profoundly relieved when class was over. In the hustle and bustle of scraping chairs and books being shoved back into bags, Bella hardly noticed when the tense boy beside her gathered his things and left, a streak of bronze hair and pale skin and a dark grey shirt out the door. She stared at his empty place, momentarily stunned. She couldn't help the immense hurt welling up inside—her eyes stung with tears. What had she done, to make him so eager to get out of there as quick as he could? All that had happened between them was a very awkward pause in the library with him on the floor and her standing there staring at him—_but he stared back,_ she thought, biting her lip and frowning as she made her way to the door. Her mind was preoccupied throughout History; she worked automatically, not really knowing what she was doing. She was still intrigued with that boy even if she felt afraid that she'd done something to offend him. She wanted to know more about him—his name, mostly. She just had to know his name. That meant the most to her right now—just his name. Who he was, mainly….

So Bella decided to skip lunch entirely and simply head down to the library—after all, she figured he might be there, seeing as he wasn't anywhere in the cafeteria again. Even though her grumbling stomach protested, she felt compelled to discover who this boy was. Even if they happened to see each other again, and even if he didn't like her the third time around, merely knowing his name might make the curiosity dim a bit. Bella was conflicted—in some ways, she wanted to get to know him, to ask him all the _why_ and _how_ questions that began to form in her mind. And in other ways, maybe it was best to just leave him alone; whatever was going on with him, he might just be figuring them out himself. For the first time, walking into the library felt almost risky; like maybe she didn't belong there anymore. Bella gazed around uncertainly, the doors squeaking shut, as her heart thumped madly.

_Oh, God, what if he's here and I'm walking down the aisle and he turns the corner and we bump into each other?! Well, no, that probably wouldn't happen, I don't even see him here… _Bella wrinkled her nose as she winced. _Oh my God, I am such an idiot. I should just leave. There's no point in staying if—oh, but maybe Ms. Hawthorne knows his name, I could just ask her then get out of here. Would that work? Oh, I don't know, maybe. _Bella stood there for a while, glaring at her feet while she argued silently but furiously with herself. She didn't know what was happening to her; one minute she felt hurt he had left so quickly, then the next she was back to wondering about him yet again. _I'm losing my mind,_ she moaned internally, swinging her head back and forth blearily as she walked slowly to the front desk. But Ms. Hawthorne wasn't there—Bella looked around, but saw no sign of the tiny librarian. It was quite unusual for her not to be at her desk; Bella wondered if maybe she was taking a lunch break. She sighed quietly, a little disappointed, and with a shrug she walked off to find a place to sit down and write. She felt a faint pain behind her eyes again—the beginning of another headache. She flopped down onto the carpeted floor behind a bookshelf and dug her notebook and pencil out of her backpack, chewing on her lower lip, anxiously.

For a while, the silence was tranquil and unbroken; it allowed Bella's thoughts to flow quicker, and she was rapidly sucked into her own little world, seeing things in her head that nobody but her could imagine. She wrote down how she was feeling; what the cause of those feelings was. She reread a few of her old poems and came up with a new one on the spot. She doodled two eyes and envisioned them to be the color green. Her ears processed only vaguely the quiet creaking sounds coming from behind; the soft clink of shoes on metal, hands brushing wood. But her pencil came to an abrupt halt as she realized she was being watched again, and her heart flipped a few times. _Oh, suck it up,_ she ranted to herself. _There's nobody there. It's just your imagination._ Though she was never free of that feeling when she stepped into this library. She wasn't going to risk looking around to see who else was here; the last thing she wanted was to have to face someone who was spying on her, if there was anyone at all. So, with a frustrated little sigh, she returned to her notebook, trying to put that thought out of her mind.

And just like that, there was yet another noisy commotion that caused Bella to yelp in surprise. Someone gasped; the bookshelf behind her shook as a metallic scraping sound filled the library, and a moment later there was a clattering thud as a tall wheeled ladder went crashing to the floor at the end of the row of books. A door near the front desk flew open, and Ms. Hawthorne came rushing out, waving her hands frantically. Her eyes darted from the ladder to the top of the bookshelf, and an expression of total surprise came over her face, bony hands remaining frozen in midair. Bella jumped to her feet, but her legs were shaking badly so it was difficult to stand. She quickly thrust her pencil and notebook back into her backpack and looked up—and, to her complete and utter astonishment, her silent Biology partner was perched atop the bookcase, gripping either side in his big hands, so he wouldn't fall off; the way he was positioned made him look like a spider, or a cat preparing to lunge. He was grimacing tightly, his green eyes wide with a mixture of mortification, alarm, and fear; he looked terrified. Bella's jaw dropped and her body went numb in shock. Ms. Hawthorne began shrieking, "Edward Cullen, what has _happened_ in here?! What—what are you—get down from there, dear, before you seriously hurt yourself! Get down…!"

_Edward Cullen._ The name rang in Bella's ears like an echo in a vast cave. Edward Cullen deliberately avoided her eyes as he carefully maneuvered his way off the bookshelf, landing lithely on the floor before hurrying away, to Bella's subconscious disappointment. Ms. Hawthorne still looked stunned, a little angry, but mostly worried—after all, how often did teenage boys knock over ladders and end up on top of bookshelves in her library? It was a miracle to even get kids to come into the place; but a whole other story to have occurrences like this to happen. Bella shook her head quickly, coming back down to reality, and sucked in a breath. Her heart was beating really fast and her hand leapt to cover her mouth to stifle the inadvertent gasp that tried to escape her lips. Edward Cullen came rushing hurriedly away from the last aisle of books, a jacket swung over one arm with his bag gripped in his other hand. Bella caught sight of the pained look on his face, saw the wet glistening of his eyes; his tearful expression was the last thing she saw of him before he pushed open the doors and left. Bella felt numb again.

—

"Ms. Swan?" Bella was jerked out of her trance by the sound of Mr. Abrams's voice saying her name. She looked up—the portly little man was standing in the doorway of his classroom, looking at her with a very somber look on his face. It took her a moment to remember she hadn't finished her homework, and her face went briefly white before it flushed scarlet. "Come in here, please," Mr. Abrams said stiffly. Bella reluctantly went into the room, a sick feeling churning in her stomach. Mr. Abrams eyed her with disapproval, then stepped to his desk and lifted up her unfinished homework pages. "Care to explain why you did not complete your homework, Ms. Swan?" the teacher asked; she could tell he was trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone but she knew he was aggravated. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see the vein bulging in his forehead. Bella didn't know what she could say.

"Well—I—" she began awkwardly. She took a deep breath. "Mr. Abrams, I'm sorry…I, um, I fell asleep when I was working on it last night. I meant to finish it, but…" She touched her hair nervously. "I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't trying to make you mad or anything. I honestly meant to complete it." A feeling of panic—of anxiety—was burning inside, and her throat felt uncomfortably tight. For a moment she thought she was going to get detention. "I'll, um, I will do extra work if you want me to," she blurted, unable to control the shaking of her voice. She fiercely wished she could talk to others like a normal person instead of having that awkward little stutter. Her brain knew what it was she was trying to say, but the words just didn't come out right like they used to. She felt stupid and childish when she spoke, and she hated that feeling. _I just wanna be okay again. Is that too much to ask? _she asked her lonely soul. Mr. Abrams was looking at her with a mingled expression of pity and irritation, like he was wondering if he should let her go or give her extra work. Bella felt she deserved whatever he was going to make her do….

Mr. Abrams huffed a sigh through his nose. "Okay. I'm sending you home with two additional pages as well as the rest of your homework—and please, Ms. Swan, try not to fall asleep while you are working on it," he added a little sarcastically. Bella nodded, grateful she wasn't going to have to sit in a classroom full of delinquents for three hours after school ended. Mr. Abrams handed over her homework with the two new pages and offered Bella a small nod; she managed a tiny smile in return, then walked out the door. She leaned against the wall to open her backpack and put away the assignment in her binder. She stood there for a while, simply watching everybody come and go with her arms holding her bag close and her thoughts running rampant. _Extra homework…Fallen ladders…Green eyes…Books…Sleep…Edward Cullen._ She had to smile triumphantly. _Edward. His name is Edward._

* * *

_Welp.. this was fun.. poor Edward though xD_

_Leave a review, or favorite/follow if you enjoyed! Thanks for reading. xx_

_- Cherry_


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